


Hubert Oswell, Formerly of Lhant

by VSSAKJ



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: Hubert finds himself filled with conflicting emotions upon his deployment to Lhant—nothing he can't handle. Really.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malachibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malachibi/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! There is some minor timeline fidgeting in this but otherwise it should be pretty canon compliant; also, I have used the [British Royal Navy](http://www.bbc.co.uk/academy/journalism/article/art20130702112133708) ranks for Strahtan military. Hope you have a lovely holiday season.

_‘Lieutenant Oswell, you’re going to Lhant.’_

Captain Coste’s words replayed in Hubert’s mind as they drew nearer and nearer to the town’s walls. His tactical gears whirred to life beneath them, judging locations for battlements and fortification—anything to keep himself preoccupied. He squinted as members of Lhant’s so-called militia wandered into view. They wouldn’t last a moment against Fendel’s soldiers.

Crossing Lhant’s border filled him with a cold breeze. How many years had it been, since he'd been peddled away from the harbour in Barona? Seven, it was... seven, now, and the little town had barely changed. The faces lining the streets as he made his way towards the unoccupied Lord’s manor were ones he would recognise, if he dared to look. Instead, he held his chin high and looked down upon the pathetic rustic nature of the place. The large windmill was churning away, looking old and rickety compared to the splendid fountains of Yu Liberte. The mansion that Lord Aston had previously called home with his wife and two sons was a pale shadow next to Prime Minister Paradine's beautiful palace. Had he really found these shambles so impressive as a child?

Lady Kerri opened the door to the mansion, and Hubert was blindsided.

“You're…” She began to say, and Hubert set his shoulders, striding past her with his personal retinue.

“I am Lieutenant Oswell of Strahta, and in the light of recent military occurrences, we are taking custody of the township of Lhant.” While Kerri stared after him, he marched forward, not meeting the gaze of Cheria's grandfather—Frederic—and instinctively taking the first left into what had once been his father's office.

Lieutenant. This was what Garrett had always wanted from him. Being in this room, his former father’s office, set him to thinking of the innumerable differences between Aston and Garrett. Garrett was a quiet, impressive man, who intimidated without ever raising his voice and contentedly listed each and every failing Hubert displayed. Hubert had appreciated the clarity, finding it was easier to avoid bad behaviour if your father clarified exactly what it was, rather than shouting about how dangerous it had been and how much you could have been hurt, and demanded why you and your brother didn't just _think_. Garrett had made him into a potential soldier: into someone who could listen to what he was told and take it to heart.

The biggest difference from when he'd last seen this room, those many years ago, was the mess of paperwork cluttering the surface of the desk. It had never been likely that Asbel would make a good head of house, and a part of Hubert was gratified by the fact that he'd been right to be suspicious all those years ago. Asbel wasn’t even _here_. It startled him to realise that Asbel’s failure as a lord made Aston right in having sent him away, where he could be the eldest, capable, sole son of Oswell's house.

Hubert settled into the great chair behind what had been Aston's desk, and ran his fingers lightly over the shining wood. Kerri tried to follow him into the office, but his cousin Raymond stopped her in the entrance.

“State your business with the Lieutenant.”

He was putting on a bold voice. Hubert did not look up; something in her eyes bothered him. He couldn’t name what.

Kerri’s words took on an imploring tone that grated on Hubert’s ears. “Please, he’s my son. Hubert.”

“She’s no relative of mine.” He heard the words leave his mouth before he could think, and heard the accompanying sob that proved Kerri had departed. A part of him fled with her, to the upper bedroom on the opposite side of the house, where a younger boy had hidden between the bed and the wall and pressed his hands against his ears, worrying desperately after the fear his brother and father inspired in him. Asbel fought back—Hubert never did.

His mouth set in a firm line, Hubert lifted a pen and began his work.

 

When the soldiers from Fendel struck, Hubert’s forces were ready. Oh, the town was far from suitably fortified, Hubert knew, but there was only so much one could do on short notice and with the imminent threat of attack. The enemy took advantage of nightfall and poor weather, and as Hubert whirled into motion, he caught himself wondering where the hell Asbel had gotten to. Surely by now he’d have found it prudent to return to the place of his birth and protect it. Word was that he’d even been in Lhant for a time, before he ran off into the distance on some… Hubert didn’t know. A fool's errand. It didn’t matter.

He spun and struck Fendelian soldiers where they’d infiltrated the town, ignoring the sense of urgency he felt to defend these old houses, names, and faces. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of silver rising against Bailey—without hesitation, Hubert flipped his weapon and fired shots in the old guard's defense. They didn't deserve his desperation, he thought, as he chewed his lip and fought on. Cheria's grandfather Frederic, the strangest of all the people he remembered, was the only who treated him like the military personnel he was; nevermind that Hubert wasn't sure he liked it.

When his damned older brother finally burst into town, it was after the fighting had nearly finished. Exhausted and sopping, he cast Asbel a dismissive glance and retreated to the manor.

There was no safety to be had. Raymond nowhere to be found and his other soldiers all performing more important duties, Asbel burst in without opposition. He was grinning, despite the mud spattering his clothing and the drips falling from his sleeves. “Hubert!”

“Hello, Asbel.” Like with Kerri, Hubert heard the words leave him before he managed thought, only this time he knew why. He knew why this damn place made him feel so cold, and it wasn't just the distance from the warm sun and sand of Strahta. He knew the reason why he hadn't yet dared venture up the staircase and why he'd set his headquarters on the ground floor, in this office and the guest room. He knew why he'd never engaged with Cheria, Frederic, Bailey, Kerri, or any other person who cast him a recognising glance.

He was an outsider here, now. Seven years later and it felt like the first half of his life was nothing more than a distant old dream.

Asbel went on, undiminished. “Hubert, it’s great to see you again.”

Was it? Hubert's fury flared to life, all the ennui of the past several days focusing into a lance directed at one person: Asbel. Asbel, who'd never answered his desperate, pleading letters. Asbel, who'd never realised how much damn trouble he'd always gotten Hubert into. Asbel, who'd never recognised that being the older son was the only thing that had saved him from the distant, hardcut life that Hubert had been made to endure. Asbel, who had run away from his responsibilities time and time again, who hadn't changed but to grow taller in the last seven years.

Asbel, whose eyes looked exactly the same as they had before Hubert had been thrown away.

“Stand down.” Hubert said, rising to his feet and directing his weapon towards Asbel. He wanted to speak. He wanted to say so many things—how this weapon was technically challenging and he was more skilled with it that Asbel could ever hope to be with a sword. That he'd been raised a successor, a victor, and a capable soldier with more sense than Asbel had in the tip of his finger. That he was so hurt and angry that Asbel would never understand how painful it was for Hubert to watch Asbel walk back in here and ignore all the factors that had brought them together in this particular way.

Asbel’s hand moved automatically over his sword’s sheath as he shook his head. “Hubert, what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Lhant is under Strahtan military occupation for the foreseeable future.” This time, Hubert had the chance to consider his words, blood pounding. He raised his voice. “I’m afraid you are not permitted entry. You need to leave.”

Asbel had the audacity to laugh uncomfortably. “Hubert, come on.”

“I won’t tell you again.”

There it was. Hubert watched it raise its head, his vengeful pride, and foresaw the many problems it could cause him in the very near future. He unhinged his dual blades and levelled them in Asbel's direction. It wouldn't matter who saw: he would trounce Asbel, and leave no doubt as to who was the better between them. Then they would all understand who he'd become, the people who looked at him as if they had any idea.

Lieutenant Oswell had no brothers. He was a prodigy, a military commander from Strahta, and he would not have his authority questioned.

“Hubert, what are you talking about?” Asbel fell back a step.

Hubert leapt forward.

 

Kerri watched the Strahtans deposit Asbel outside the walls and wondered when her youngest son would be brave enough to speak with her. His reaction had worried—but not surprised—her, so she hadn't approached him since that first day, and waited. Waited for him to reach out.

She hovered outside the door to the office when he ordered his cousin Raymond about, and met eyes with Frederic when she thought she could keep herself from crying. Frederic seemed to understand. He must be struggling, Kerri thought as she turned her hands over and over, watching Asbel push himself to his feet and set himself on course for the distance. He must be struggling a great deal.


End file.
